


As Silver Swirls Inside My Head

by HollowNightmare



Series: Geralt and Jaskier being soft™ [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Geralt has a nightmare, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier sings!, Kaer Morhen, Nightmares, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Slash, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, how do you write songs help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowNightmare/pseuds/HollowNightmare
Summary: Geralt has a nightmare; Jaskier helps.It tasted like fire, which was new. It was the first time they made him drink this. Fire, and something bitter. Geralt felt his insides burn. Which was okay, really. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d had to go through. But it still hurt like a bitch.Geralt’s eyes snapped open. He blinked once, remaining otherwise motionless.“Jaskier”.[can be read as a standalone]
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geralt and Jaskier being soft™ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596391
Comments: 72
Kudos: 1180





	As Silver Swirls Inside My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> Here we go again. I could write Geralt having nightmares every day for the rest of my life and I'd never get tired of it. I love to watch (make) him suffer *evil laugh*
> 
> English is not my first language, so please tell me if you spot any mistakes! I'll love you forever if you do.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jaskier had thought he’d never get used to sleeping on the bare ground, at first. It just didn’t feel right. How was one supposed to get some rest, when their back was screaming in agony? Still, one of man’s greatest qualities was the ability to adapt, and Jaskier was no exception.  
It took some time, and a lot of complaining, but he got used to it; he could even appreciate it, to some degree, especially when the sky was clear and he could fall asleep watching the stars.

Geralt, on the other hand, had never complained about it, not even when it was raining so hard that the earth had lost its solidity to the mud; which, the bard thought, didn’t necessarily mean he _liked_ it.

His theory was proved when, after weeks of traveling through forests and bogs, they reached a small town, and Geralt paid for the best room of the town’s only inn.

As it turned out, the best room they could offer was just about the same as the average room of any slightly bigger town’s inn. It was big enough to fit two beds, a fireplace, a wooden chest, and a washstand with a basin and a pitcher already filled with water. The moonlight seeped through a small window into the room and onto one of the beds. It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough.

They were both so tired that they didn’t even bother to get out of their sodden and filthy clothes; they crashed on the beds, Jaskier bid Geralt a good night (to which the Witcher answered with a grunt), and they surrendered to the sweet embrace of the night.

At least, one of them did.

Jaskier couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He refused to think he had become so accustomed to sleeping on the ground that he could no longer rest on a mattress. It had to be that he was so exhausted he didn’t even have the strength to drift into oblivion. As he lay on the bed he had desired for a long time, too sleepy to be considered fully awake, and way too conscious to fall asleep, he decided the best thing he could do to pass the time - and, hopefully, to bring both his body and his brain to a point where they had to shut off - was to observe Geralt.

Which was a wonderful idea because one never has enough material to put in one’s songs. The bard felt he was his duty to Poetry, nay, to Geralt himself (who, after all, was the one to benefit the most from Jaskier’s songs - in terms of fame, at least), to know as best as he could the Witcher’s features, so that his compositions could do him justice. So really, he wasn’t being creepy. This was all in the name of science, thank you very much.

  


* * *

_It tasted like fire, which was new. It was the first time they made him drink this. Fire, and something bitter. Geralt felt his insides burn. Which was okay, really. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d had to go through. But it still hurt like a bitch._

.

_He thought he’d scream, if he could, but they’d cast a spell on all of them; the constant screaming was annoying, so they’d taken their voices from them. Of course, that hadn’t been the first solution to the problem. They’d thought that sewing their lips would have made the trick, which wasn’t the case, really. So then the spell had been cast. Geralt hadn’t made any friends there, but he didn’t mind speaking with the others, occasionally. It’s been months since he uttered something. He wanted to scream. Not that it’d be of any use._

__

.

__

_He didn’t know what he looked like. It was for the best, he reckoned. He knew he wasn’t the same as before. His hair wasn’t, at least. He didn’t want to know. The others were afraid of him because of how he looked. They weren’t afraid of him before. But then again, he’d still been human, before._

__

.

__

_The spell had been lifted. Geralt had lost the will to talk. Someone else was chattering, though. He didn’t know his name. He could hear him through the walls. He’d never see him - they weren’t allowed to see each other now. Except - one night, someone came to his room. Geralt had them at sword-point before they’d crossed the threshold.  
“What the fuck, Geralt”  
Geralt lowered his sword, and looked at the intruder.  
“...Jaskier?” No, that can’t be right. He can’t be here. Anyone but him. Please._

__

.

__

_He felt one of his bones break. He didn’t care which one. He didn’t scream, he didn’t even let out a sigh. Screaming wasn’t allowed. He had to go through this process in silence. It would make him stronger, apparently, if he managed to survive it - which, word had it, nobody had succeeded in doing so far.  
They gave him something to drink. It tasted like fire, which was new. It was they first time they’d made him drink this. Fire, and something bitter. On second thought, this _was _the worst thing they’d put him through._

__

.

__

_He really wishes he could have chosen this._

* * *

__  
In his defense, he _was_ tired. It wasn’t really his fault if he couldn’t concentrate on the Witcher’s body for long.  
He had managed to make some mental notes during the first ten minutes, then he’d found himself spacing out. Which, again, was totally understandable.  
Jaskier decided to take one last look at Geralt’s hair; he could then close his eyes and fall asleep, hopefully.

The bard focused. His friend was perfectly still, composed even when sleeping, arms at his sides and hair without tangles, glowing in the moonlight.  
There was something wrong. Jaskier tried to concentrate.

Geralt’s hands were closed in fists, knuckles completely white; his jaw set, teeth clenched as tight as the Witcher’s fists. Neither of these things was unusual.  
His breathing was fine, as well — nothing out of the ordinary.  
The bard couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and then it hit him: the Witcher was breathing fine, _for a human_. Which Geralt was not. Now, Jaskier didn't really know how much slower Witcher hearts beat, so he couldn't really tell if his friend was in an anxious state or having a panic attack in his sleep, but whatever the case he had to do something to help.  
Against his better instincts - Geralt did _not_ like to be disturbed when he was sleeping - he resolved to wake the Witcher up.

Now, Jaskier didn’t have a death wish. He really liked being alive. So he would not, under any circumstances, shake Geralt awake, or touch him in any other way. All he could do was rely on the Witcher’s exceptional hearing.

“...Geralt?” he whispered tentatively as he got up and approached the other bed.

Geralt’s eyes snapped open. He blinked once, remaining otherwise motionless.

“Jaskier”.

His voice was calm, unwavering. It was as if he was merely acknowledging the bard’s presence.  
_Oh shit. Shitshitshit I woke him and he didn’t want to be woken up._

“Yes, um, don’t mind me - it kind of looked like you maybe weren’t having the greatest time and I thought that it would have been best to like wake you up… possibly. Sorry. I’ll just… Sorry”.

Geralt blinked again. “Hm”.

He sat upright and unclenched his hands.

“What the- Geralt. Is that blood?”

The Witcher inspected his hands, indifference all over his face; there were moon-shaped cuts under the blood, decorating his palms. He had no reaction. Jaskier wasn’t really sure Geralt had heard anything he said.

“...I wasn’t”.

 _Oh. Okay._  
The bard went to the washstand, poured some water into the basin, and handed it to his friend, with a piece of cloth he got from his bag.

“Do something about that, please. I don’t want you looking like you’ve just murdered someone. I think you’ll find that people are less inclined to toss coins your way when you’re covered in blood, no matter how good I sing”.

Geralt started washing his hands, going through the motions in a mechanical, detached way. His breathing was still off. Jaskier was getting more and more worried by the second. This wasn’t right. He didn’t like it.

He tossed a log into the fireplace, hoping to rekindle a fire which had lost its warmth a while before. He watched the Witcher’s face, caressed by moonlight, and thought he should write countless songs on his golden eyes and silver hair, and sing them to himself when he was alone and lonely and cold. Then he snapped out of it and, because he had no brain-mouth filter, blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“...can I touch you hair?”

Geralt glared at him and positively _growled_. 

_Well, here goes nothing._ “So that’s a yes, right? I thought so”.

Jaskier plopped himself on the Witcher’s bed, checked whether he was still alive (he could _swear_ Geralt was stabbing him with his eyes), then patted the mattress next to him. To his great surprise, Geralt lay down beside him, without saying a word. Which, really, was proof that nothing was right.

The bard started carding his fingers through the silvery hair, slowly, humming quietly a ballad he was working on. He knew Geralt didn’t like to talk about himself, even more so when his feelings were involved, and he was okay with it. He didn’t want to push; he wanted to help. So he went on until dawn, combing the Witcher’s hair with his fingers; he wasn’t tired anymore, nor did he want to sleep.

At the end of the night Geralt was still awake, but he was sensibly calmer than a few hours before, and that was all that mattered to Jaskier. He was singing softly, something sad and new, when the Witcher raised his head, and looked him in the eye. He instantly shut up.

“Could you sing it a bit louder?” 

Jaskier thought he might die. He smiled a little, then started again, his voice gentle and sweet:

_In the evening, drunk on tears  
He goes to sleep, his eyes wide open  
They're never shut but still he dreams  
Of blood and sweat — the war's not over _

__

_Tears thread into the fabric of the night  
Immortal gods do weep, but they weep blood  
Red drops onto white sheets and silver cloth  
They hide their golden eyes from the moonlight_

__

_When the sun rises in the sky  
He showers in its pinkish rays  
"I've lived too long" a silent cry  
But still he hopes in better days _

Geralt closed his eyes for the first time since he’d been woken up, leaned on the bard’s shoulder, and hoped Jaskier would understand everything he wasn’t saying.

“It’s okay” murmured the bard. He’d sleep some other night.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing songs is so hard! I think I did okay, though.
> 
> Comments and kudos warm my cold, dead heart. You can find me on [tumblr](https://pengwings-are-cool.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Also! The lovely fannishliss turned my song into, you know, an _actual_ [song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624192)!
> 
> Have a nice day :)


End file.
